Something Wicked
by ThePrettiestPoison
Summary: CeCe and Jess coerce the boys into watching reality television. Slight implications of Jess/Nick but nothing serious. Just some silly stuff. Would you read it if I promised you it didn't suck? I think you would. Or should. Reviews? Critique? Anything? :


**So for those of you who's characters are a part of Casting Call and have sought out this page with pitchforks in-hand…(You are looking dapper, today, might I add)…fear not. That story is on a brief hiatus due to dance classes, college, and work getting in the way of writing things for other people. Admittedly I have been working on short-term projects like this one, and also one for my own sanity called Prosper Fairly, which is an original work being that I don't in fact write a lot of fan fiction (as you may have noticed).**

**That being said, this is my first New Girl piece and should any of the cast read this (because they occasionally do) I ask them to please be gentle, this is my first time (that's what she said…*deposits dollar into the Douchebag jar*)…I literally…have…a douchebag jar. Most of my friends have contributed. It is very effective form of discipline. Anyways. I'm sorry. Enough drabble.**

**Hi.**

**Um.**

**Have a jolly good time.**

**Review?**

***thumbs-up***

CeCe and Jess sat curled at the end of the couch watching E!, Jess' legs in CeCe's lap and CeCe's arms thrown casually around her shoulders. Schmidt was perched at the other end of the couch watching just as intently. The girls' eyes were glued to the television, and Schmidt's eyes were glued to the girls.

"Careful, Schmidt, you're drooling," CeCe's tone was flat with disapproval but when she slid her gaze sideways to look at him, she could see the smirk in her expression. Permission to be his usual dorky (or in his mind, insufferably suave) self.

It was only halfway into the program when Nick padded into the living room, glancing from the girls and Schmidt to the television before letting loose his most disgusted turtle-face.

"Really, guys? Really?"

"What?" Jess demanded, genuinely offended by the tone. Kim and Kourtney would be too if they were there to hear it, and it was just plain rude.

"Judgment. Judgment man. Don't be a hater."

"No, really, what?" Jess insisted, ignoring Schmidt.

"The Kardashians? Really?" And because none of the trio seemed to understand him, he sighed, ducked his head, and decided. Yes. He was definitely going to argue his case on this one. "First of all. Schmidt. Douchebag jar."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Quick. Before you grow a vagina."

Schmidt didn't look convinced. "Well I think that's a little dramatic." No one present missed the irony in Schmidt's accusation. Nick, however, decided it would have been too easy.

"Look what you're watching," is what he argued instead.

"There is nothing wrong with marveling at the mysterious interworking's of America's most attractive family of female business-women," Jess interceded, gestured to the television with a melodramatic flourish that made Nick raise his eyebrows.

"I'm pretty sure you just made that all up in your head on the spot," Nick told her. The guilty look and the lowering of the head was her answer, and it was all the confirmation he needed. "Also, most attractive is pushing it. Kim Karashian looks like an alien and I've heard the tall one may be a man—" realizing he may have stepped in it on that one, he backtracked immediately. "—Not that I pay attention to that stuff. People talk. At the bar. Different people besides me. Not me. They talk. I listen. Sort of a part of my job."

"Don't hate on Khloe. She's big and beautiful and an empowered woman who happens to intimidate smaller, more insignificant people such as yourself. Because you're jealous and she's flawless," Schmidt countered loudly. Nick was pretty sure he'd rehearsed that speech in the bathroom mirror to himself every day. About himself. Several times.

"I think…that response…just spoke for itself. Why don't you just…go ahead and throw your whole wallet in there, while you're at it," Nick indicated to the Douchebag jar as Schmidt was stuffing another five into the growing pile of cash.

"Why can't you just give it a chance? It's just a show. I don't see why you need to get so worked up over it," Jess argued. There was a moment that passed between them wherein Jess threw Nick her most withering glare (which was, in fact, nothing if not adorable in its futile attempt to intimidate him into compliance) and Nick contemplated the consequences of surrendering to her, thus giving up his afternoon to watch reality television. With a huff of defeat he shuffled over to the couch and threw himself at Jess's side with an unceremonious flop. CeCe smiled knowingly but remained silent as the commercials ended.

"What are you _watching_?" Winston was staring at the television with a mixture of awe, disgust, and disbelief. "I mean, Nick. I knew things were bad, but to sink this low?"

"Shut up, Winston, he's expanding his intellectual horizons," Jess snapped, jabbing a finger at Winston in frustration. The gesture, however demeaning its intentions, came off as maternal. The expression on his face lingered.

"I wouldn't…call this…intellectual."

"And I wouldn't call Young and the Restless intellectual but you watch that religiously day in and day out," Schmidt countered.

"You really need a job," CeCe cast Winston a look of such pity he immediately sank onto the couch and proceeded to glower at the television while the others bickered back and forth.

"I will have you know that daytime television sucks," he spat out, but it took him a few minutes too long to come up with that one and no one bothered to throw him a bone.

"None of this is possible!" Nick thrust a hand accusingly at the television only a few minutes later. Jess rolled her eyes, the brief and relatively peaceful silence over. "They've known each other for a few weeks! They can't get married!"

"It's so plausible! Tell me that you didn't get to know me intimately after just a few weeks," Jess snapped back. Schmidt, CeCe, and Winston all exchanged a knowing glance at the use of the word 'intimately' but they weren't about to step into the middle of this one.

"Jess, that's because you insisted on following me to my work and sharing every detail of your existence with me in the span of six hours," Nick reasoned.

"Most of that was arbitrary," she said.

"You do not 'arbitrarily tell someone your credit score," Nick grimaced at the scarring experience in the cellphone store regarding his own credit score, but Jess was merciful and didn't bring it up.

"I was not that bad," Jess pouted instead.

"You followed me during my lunch."

"I was going through a breakup!"

"Alright, Jess," Nick's tone was thick with the insinuation that he'd definitely won but he didn't want to hear anymore of Jess's nonsense. Nor did he want to upset her by talking about the breakup. If he had to watch Patrick Swayze's hips gyrating in Dirty Dancing one more time he was probably going to throw himself out of a window. "By the way have you changed your ATM code?" Just to prove a point.

"You gave him your ATM code?" Winston was gawking at her.

Jess didn't miss a beat. "In case there was an emergency and he didn't have any money—"

"And he happened to have _your_ wallet on hand?"

"It could happen," Jess insisted stubbornly. "Just like two people who have known each other for a few weeks could fall in love and get married. Because the heart wants what the heart wants," Jess' tone was filled with the kind of soul that made Nick abandon his argument. There was no arguing with a hopeless romantic regarding affairs such as these. He let her win the battle. But he was absolutely determined to win the war.

"Oh I am so not drunk enough for this conversation," Winston shook his head and crossed the living room to the kitchen. He didn't bother with grabbing a few beers and carrying them to the couch—he just brought the whole case.

"Where on earth did she put his balls? Scott! Scott if you can hear me! You are so much better than this! Get back your manhood!"

"Nick, I don't think he can hear you," Jess hissed, completely serious.

"I don't know, Nick, it sounds like you're almost getting into it," CeCe leaned forward to give Nick the full benefit of her most patronizing smile.

"It's just the empathy talking," Winston assured them smoothly.

"What? I totally still have my balls."

"Nick. You let two girls you aren't even having sex with coerce you into watching reality television," Winston reasoned, arching his eyebrows. "Man card, please." Winston held out his hand expectantly.

"I'm sorry, I guess I should take lessons from you, Winston. You, who belts out the Wicked soundtrack in a car that you agreed to call the Manbulance. Please to be handing over your man card, Elfiba," Nick countered, arbitrarily revealing a very key piece of blackmail that Winston had intended on using against him anyways.

"It's funny that you know the name of the female protagonist. You know what else is funny," Winston started digging through a pile of CD cases on the coffee table. "The fact that this Wicket soundtrack is in a CD case with the cover-art taken off that clearly says 'NICK' on the front of it. Checkmate, buddy."

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Jess intoned in her deepest "bro-tone" (she called it a "bro-tone", though the other three flat-mates had banished it within its first use), and put a hand to her mouth, pointing at Nick with her free hand. The gesture was a little unnecessary given the limited amount of space in between them, so she went about poking him repeatedly in a much less masculine gesture of ridicule.

"Yes. But. See. What really makes a man is one who can actuall sing the Wicked sountrack while remaining on key. Which I think, we can agree, I do a little bit better than you," said Nick. Everyone froze, pondering the implications.

"Not if that night at the bar with the piano was any indication," CeCe muttered.

"What?" Nick exclaimed, clearly devastated.

"I sense a sing-off," Jess smirked impishly.

"I'll get the karaoke machine!" Schmidt bolted from the room as though someone had goosed him, revitalized with the prospect of a moment to relive his college days of Simon Cowell impersonations during American Idol season. He could not possibly have been more tickled.


End file.
